


watching me is like watching a fire take your eyes from you

by Buttercup_ghost



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Bleh, Gen, Mental Health Issues, One Shot, Pre-Canon, Pre-Game Akamatsu Kaede, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Short, Short One Shot, i’m not sure what to it tag this??, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:14:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28843671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_ghost/pseuds/Buttercup_ghost
Summary: That’s fine. That’s perfectly fine, though. She hums, taking another sip as the neon lights grate on her eyes. It’s all perfectly fine, here. It’s completely peaceful. The nausea swirls, louder and louder, as her head pounds the rhythm. It feels like her brain could suffocate, struggling for oxygen. She feels fuzzy around the corners, lack of sleep. It’s a utopia here, really. How quaint. How perfect.How boring, she sighs, resentful.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	watching me is like watching a fire take your eyes from you

**Author's Note:**

> title from repetition from purity ring
> 
> wrote this real quick after getting nauseous from drinking too many caprisun. inspiration comes from odd places sometimes

Leaning against a wall, in a town her mother says never to go out in at night, a girl lifts the juice pouch in her hands, bringing it to her mouth. She feels brick scratch against her jacket, an unpleasant sensation; faux-leather, just another way to feel cool. The sugar goes straight to her stomach, a queasy feeling, as her head pulsates. Ah, how irritating. How irritating it all is. She could puke.

That’s fine. That’s perfectly fine, though. She hums, taking another sip as the neon lights grate on her eyes. It’s all perfectly fine, here. It’s completely peaceful. The nausea swirls, louder and louder, as her head pounds the rhythm. It feels like her brain could suffocate, struggling for oxygen. She feels fuzzy around the corners, lack of sleep. It’s a utopia here, really. How quaint. How perfect.

How boring, she sighs, resentful.

It’s safe to even be here, where the neon signs glare louder and louder. Even here, at night, the bad side of town—it’s peaceful. Anything other than peace, it only happens once in a blue moon, enough to keep the fearful paranoid. But even so, it’s safe, sickeningly safe here, even with the sun down, the lights glowing. Her eyes ache under the brilliance of the saturation. How boring, how boring, how boring. Such an irritating life. She sips from her juice pack, once more. The sugar could be killing her. She wouldn’t care.

Its a slow death, she thinks. A horrible one. She knows that; everyone does, when a world without crime made illness their greatest threat. Of course, a world without crime was an exaggeration. There would always be crime; people were just horrible, like that. She takes another sip, idly, and snorts. Ah, how rebellious of her, to drink juice packets like one would smoke cigarettes; what a fucking joke this shit is. Her fake leather grates on her, and she crushes the straw between her teeth.

How pathetic. How pathetic it all is.

But no matter diabetes or lung cancer, it’s going to kill you someday. (We all have our vices.)

A little funny, then, she thinks. A little funny how distasteful people find cigarettes. Even she, with ingrained, learned shame, can only imagine nicotine between her lips within her dreams. Everyone knows such habits where bad for you; it’s the ones people overlooked she found troubling. She scoffed, another sip to prove her point.

She frowned as she only got air, before she sighed. Troubling, she thinks, as she grabs another from the box next to her, and repeats the cycle again. Even this is boring, she knows; even this is repetitive. Still, the familiarity of the motion comforted her. She has grown fond of the poison she puts in her veins.

She snorts—how pretentious. How melodramatic. She sips a little louder, scoffing at herself. The bat leaning on the wall next to her, and the scattered remains of electronics, her only company, to hear her bitterness. Everything turns to ruins, eventually. Her phone vibrates in her pocket.

Ah, it’s time. She sighs, slipping her phone from her pocket. A few simple taps were all it took, before she rotated it sideways. This, too, was pretentious, she thought to herself; everyone watched Danganronpa to feel smart. To boast about how you understood the themes, the characters, about how you solved the murders before they did. It was all annoying, just meaningless drivel; it all grated on her last nerve. She slipped in her ear buds.

“ _We won’t give up!_ ” Some boy she didn’t care enough to learn the name of shouted, loud and obtrusive. “ _We will never give up, no matter what you say!_ ”

It was really all just the same, she sighed. A bit of her was envious—she would love to believe in people so easily. But then again, that would only make her a naive fool, in the end, and she doubts that even if she was a brand new person, the part of her that squirmed with mistrust would lessen. The boy goes on, saying platitudes people like her could never believe in, only replicate. But that was fine, too. It wasn’t like it was real, in the first place. 

She shivers, suddenly, cold. She curls her jacket tighter around her. No, it’s not like any of it was real; even reality, she thinks, this peaceful, sedated nightmare they lived in—maybe it wasn’t real, either. It wasn’t like people really knew each other. Didn’t she know best how people lied?

No, she decides. Nothing is real. Not when feelings can change on a dime, and perception could be twisted even unintentionally. In reality, Danganronpa wasn’t so different from their normal life. People were just too cowardly to admit it. The stars twinkle brightly above her, distant. She can hardly see them, with how bright the neon blares. Still, far away, out of reach, they shine, watching on. Asters at her feet, constellations in the sky. She can’t make them out, as she tips her head back, listening to the audio still resounding in her ears. The sound makes them ache, a bit. Perhaps it’s too loud, loud enough to permeate her brain, stain it in a way she can never wash out. Danganronpa pink; if you bashed her skull open, would the shade spill out like the censored blood on her screen? How unnatural. She shivers once more. She has never liked the cold; it’s always dulled her destruction.

She can see her breath.

(For a moment, she pretends it’s smoke.)


End file.
